


ready for your thieving hand

by alcibiades



Series: do i really have to come up with a title for this now [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (a little), Daddy Kink, M/M, Mostly porn, Multiple Orgasms, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcibiades/pseuds/alcibiades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You cleaned up?" Bucky asked. He smirked, leaned forward, ran the toe of his left shoe very slowly up Coulson's right ankle and calf under the table. "What, were you that confident you'd be able to get me back to your place? You think I'm that easy?"</p><p>Coulson got redder and redder. His mouth opened for a moment, before he got ahold of himself and snapped it closed. "Oh, don't worry," Bucky purred, pausing for a moment to wet his lips with his tongue. "You were right. I am."</p>
            </blockquote>





	ready for your thieving hand

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at least a year ago. I am posting it at the request of a few commenters who were very insistent that they would like to read it. Please be gentle: to be honest, I haven't watched any of AOS at all, and as such, my characterization of Coulson is entirely based upon hearsay.
> 
> Title from [this song.](https://youtu.be/tjlKZ1-29JM)

"I really don't know how to thank you," said Coulson, reaching to shake Bucky's hand. "It goes without saying that without your contributions this mission would have gone very differently."

"Nice of you to say, Director," Bucky said, grinning. Coulson was right, of course -- it had been Bucky's intel that had gotten them into the Hydra base in the first place, and Bucky's combat expertise that had kept the team together when shit had gone very far south and May wasn't around to slap a modicum of sense into them. He paused, and then added, "You could buy me dinner, if you really want to thank me."

Coulson looked almost comically surprised for a moment, and then said, "Dinner? Yeah, I think I could manage that. How does Thursday night work for you?"

"Technically I'm unemployed," Bucky said. "So Thursday night is fine." He winked at Coulson. "I'll pencil it into my planner. Seven o'clock?"

"Seven is fine," Coulson said, blinking. Bucky gave him a little mock salute and turned crisply to leave Coulson's office, closing the door behind himself.

+++

"I just don't get it," Steve said, putting away the weights and wiping sweat from his face with a towel. "It just seems like you're stringing him along for your own amusement, Buck. Doesn't seem like you."

"I'm not stringing him along," Bucky said, cracking his neck, taking the towel and wiping his own face when Steve tossed it over as they headed for the showers. "I fully intend on letting him fuck me all night long if he can manage it."

Steve shook his head, getting undressed and turning the shower on. "Yeah, but you're not _interested_ in him," he said. "You don't really want to date him."

"I don't not want to," Bucky countered, pulling his t-shirt over his head and stepping out of his sweats, turning on the shower head next to Steve's, hot, and ducking his head under the water. He was silent for a while as they both rinsed off, and then turned to face Steve as he lathered shampoo into his hair. "You know, this would all be a moot point if _you_ would fuck me."

Steve didn't say anything, his jaw tightening, that telltale muscle bulging. "Yeah, I know," Bucky said. "We've had this conversation before. I get it. Listen, I'm not _manipulating_ him. We both get what we want, nobody gets hurt, end of story. And as far as I see it, you don't have much right to butt in, as much as you seem to want to."

He turned the shower off and grabbed his towel, starting to dry off. "Bucky, wait," Steve said; Bucky, irritated, turned back to look at him, and he had this morose expression on his face, like a kicked puppy. "I love you," Steve said. "You _know_ I love you."

"Yeah, buddy," Bucky said quietly. "I do."

+++

Thursday night, Bucky took extra time getting ready. He made sure everything was just right, just a touch above the usual degree of put-togetherness. He knew Coulson would notice the effort. He knew Coulson would _appreciate_ it. The suit fit perfectly; the waves of his hair fell just so. He had the very beginnings of a five o'clock shadow, enough to slightly mar the image of perfection. He straightened his tie.

"You look nice," Steve said softly. "I guess I don't have to tell you to have a good time."

"No, I guess not," Bucky said, adjusting his cufflinks so that they barely showed beneath the sleeves of his jacket. "Nice of you to, though."

Steve was just in a t-shirt and jeans. He had no plans -- Sam was busy back down in D.C. with his job, and Natasha was on a mission. He came over and touched Bucky's tie, setting it slightly askew from where Bucky'd just straightened it. "Well," Steve said, "have a good time." He leaned forward and kissed Bucky, on the mouth, just once, chastely.

Bucky leaned into it, wanting it -- like he always did. But it never went any further than this, and goddamn it if he didn't have needs, as fucked-up as some of them might be. He had needs, and he wasn't going to sit around waiting for Steve to change his mind, or suddenly decide to fulfill those needs. "I will," he said. "Thanks. Don't wait up for me."

"Okay," Steve said. He touched Bucky's cheek, sighed, and turned away, heading back toward the kitchen.

The restaurant was beautiful, classy as hell, and exuded the aura of being _expensive._ Bucky had made sure to get there a little early; it was worth it to be polite, he thought. Coulson showed up about three minutes after Bucky, and the look on his face when he saw Bucky, before he had the presence of mind to cover it up, was enough to send a hot thrill through Bucky right then and there.

The table Coulson had gotten them was probably the best in the house. "What kind of favors did you call in to get _this_ ," Bucky said, undoing the buttons of his jacket and sitting down across from Coulson, giving him a dazzling smile. "How's work?"

"Oh, you know," Coulson said. "Another day, another barely-averted disaster." He smiled. "How's Captain Rogers?"

"Steve's fine," Bucky said. "You should think about calling him in on one or a dozen of those barely-averted disasters. I think he's feeling a little antsy to do something reckless like jump out of a plane. And I'm only so good as a sparring partner since he can't _really_ convince me of the error of my ways and convert me to the side of truth, freedom, and the American way." He picked up the drink menu, scanned it. "What are we drinking tonight?"

"Whatever you want," Coulson said. "I heard you were a whiskey drinker."

"You heard right," Bucky said. "Though I wouldn't want to waste your money under false pretenses: It's not going to do anything for me, if you didn't already know that."

"I did, actually," Coulson replied. "And I wouldn't call it a waste as long as you enjoy it."

"In that case," Bucky said, smiling, ordering a tremendously expensive scotch when the waiter came by, "put it on the expense account. I mean really, it's the least SHIELD could do for me, isn't it? All those years, there I was, just right under your noses."

Coulson didn't quite know what to say to that. Bucky didn't give him too long to think about it, either. "I would ask what looks good with scotch," he said, browsing the menu, "but I think just about everything looks good with scotch." He toasted to a successful mission when their glasses were full, and he could have sworn that he saw the scotch light a fire behind Coulson's eyes when he took the first sip.

They made small talk over dinner. Coulson asked these sort of hilariously benign questions, the kinds of questions that people sometimes asked Bucky on the street: What's the biggest thing that's changed about New York? What's your favorite thing about the future? though of course Coulson was a little bit more nuanced about it. Bucky found it kind of funny -- of anyone who would have some blatantly romanticized view of the past, he wouldn't have expected it to be Coulson. It was kind of charming, though. Kind of endearing.

"I'm curious to see where _you_ live," he said to Coulson, watching a pink flush creep up Coulson's neck. "No, I'm serious. I mean, Avengers tower is fantastic and all, but you seem like you have good taste. What do you say? You gonna show me around?"

"I -- sure," Coulson said. He gave a nervous laugh. "Thank god I cleaned up before I left."

"You cleaned up?" Bucky asked. He smirked, leaned forward, ran the toe of his left shoe very slowly up Coulson's right ankle and calf under the table. "What, were you that confident you'd be able to get me back to your place? You think I'm that easy?"

Coulson got redder and redder. His mouth opened for a moment, before he got ahold of himself and snapped it closed. "Oh, don't worry," Bucky purred, pausing for a moment to wet his lips with his tongue. "You were right. I am."

+++

They took a car back to Coulson's place when they were done with dinner. Bucky was full, but not over-full, and the whiskey had been good enough to put him in a certain frame of mind even without the real effects of the alcohol. He leaned over in the cab and bit Coulson's earlobe gently, then kissed him when he turned his head in surprise.

Coulson melted into it for a moment and then went stiff, making a noise of protest. "What?" Bucky said, licking his lips, bemused.

"There's always somebody watching," Coulson said, a little tetchy, straightening his tie.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. "Fuck 'em. Unless you're ashamed to be seen with me, Director." He glanced at Coulson through his eyelashes, watched the conflicting urges very clearly at war on Coulson's face. For all Coulson could play the benign enigma at work, for all he was pretty goddamn good at projecting the image of the perfect government drone, he didn't stand a chance against Bucky, here where it hit a lot closer to home.

He kissed Coulson again, and this time Coulson grabbed his jacket, pulling him close. By the time the car pulled up, he was halfway in Coulson's lap, with Coulson's other hand creeping up his thigh. The driver was, thankfully, discreet enough that he just cleared his throat, and Coulson shoved some money at him and then got out of the car, trying to straighten himself up, tugging at his jacket.

Bucky followed him up to the front of the building. "Good evening, sir," said the doorman, letting them in with a polite, neutral expression. They went to the elevator and Bucky let Coulson lead, pressing the button for his floor. In the distorted reflection of the elevator's interior, he could see himself already looking slightly disheveled, his hair a little askew and his mouth red.

Coulson's place was very different from the tower. It was less ostentatious, for one, which -- it wasn't surprising. It'd be a feat and a half to somehow be _more_ ostentatious than anything built by or for Tony Stark. What it was was warm, comfortable-looking, but very tasteful. Lots of rich wood, some elements of mid-century modern design, but more inviting than somewhere that had truly been "decorated" ever tended to look. "I was right," Bucky said. "You have good taste."

"Thank you," Coulson said. "Can I take your jacket?"

"What a gentleman," Bucky said, unbuttoning it, taking it off and handing it to him. "You want I should take my shoes off?"

"Uh," Coulson said. "Up to you, I guess. It doesn't really -- matter. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Glass of wine?"

"You hiding more hundred-year scotch up your sleeve?" Bucky said, undoing his cufflinks, rolling his sleeves up, watching the way Coulson's eyes followed the motion. "I'm kidding. I'll have a glass of wine, sure."

Coulson took his own jacket off and hung it up next to Bucky's, went into the kitchen and got out a bottle of red, opened it up and poured them each a glass. "Thank you," Bucky said, setting his cufflinks on the kitchen counter and taking a sip. It was nice. Rich, not too dry. Spicy.

Coulson picked up one of the cufflinks and looked at it. "These are beautiful," he said. "I should be telling you _you're_ the one with good taste."

"Mmm," Bucky said. "Those were a gift from Pepper, actually." He reached out, grabbed for one of Coulson's belt loops, and reeled Coulson in. Now that they were back here, for all his eagerness in the cab, Coulson seemed a little bit nervous.

Bucky took another drink of his wine, then set the glass on the kitchen counter. "You wanna kiss me, don't you?" he asked.

Coulson nodded slowly. "So do it," Bucky said. "What are you waiting for?"

"I, uh," Coulson said, leaning in closer. "I didn't want the night to end so soon."

Bucky laughed. "If I were you," he said, "I _really_ wouldn't worry about that. I'm _just_ getting started."

Coulson's ears had gone red again, but there was only a split second of hesitation between when Bucky finished his sentence and when Coulson grabbed him and kissed him. He was, as Bucky had noted before, a good kisser, clearly had plenty of practice, and Bucky gave just as good as he got, not stopping until he had to pull back to breathe.

He backed away from Coulson slowly, step by step, undoing his tie as he went, and Coulson followed. His eyes followed the movements as Bucky started to unbutton his shirt, and once Bucky had reached the couch, he practically pounced, pushing Bucky down and climbing on top of him, kissing Bucky's mouth, and then his neck.

Bucky groaned, insinuating a hand between them and sliding it down Coulson's front to squeeze at his crotch -- he had gotten very hard very fast, not that Bucky could blame him. Coulson pulled away for a moment to undo his own tie, and Bucky took the opportunity to shed his shirt, tossing it to the side, and starting on his pants.

Coulson stared at all the exposed skin, and Bucky didn't have to ask if he liked what he was seeing, because it was practically a palpable sensation, one that sent a shiver rolling down Bucky's spine. Coulson slapped Bucky's hands away from his belt and slowly pulled it out of Bucky's belt loops instead, letting it slither off to the side. Bucky grinned up at him, letting his eyes go half-lidded; Coulson rubbed him through the fabric of his pants, his hand tracing the outline of Bucky's erection as his expression got hungrier and hungrier and his flush deepened.

Bucky let him do it for a minute, and then he sat up, sliding neatly down onto the floor on his knees and yanking Coulson so that he was sitting forward on the couch. Coulson's hands hovered in the air, uncertain, as Bucky yanked open Coulson's pants, pulling them down and getting his dick out. He glanced up at Coulson for just a moment, and then leaned forward; Coulson's hand settled in his hair as he swallowed Coulson's dick down.

"Jesus --" Coulson said breathlessly, his hips bucking. Bucky let him; he could take it. "Bucky, jesus --"

Normally he called Bucky 'Sergeant Barnes,' very polite. A couple of times he'd called Bucky 'James.' It made Bucky smirk, pulling off and tonguing at the head of Coulson's dick. Coulson groaned; his cock jerked, where Bucky had his hand around it. His fingers tugged at Bucky's hair. Bucky hummed, pleased, and the added stimulation just made Coulson groan again.

"Wait, wait --" Coulson gasped, his tugging on Bucky's hair becoming more insistent. His dick had gone even more rigid in Bucky's mouth, and Bucky ran his tongue along the underside of it, looking up at Coulson questioningly, a look which just made Coulson spurt out a little more pre-come and swear. "I don't want to come yet," Coulson said. "Not yet, not yet--"

Bucky smirked at him again and pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not even just to take the edge off?" he asked, standing up and dropping his own pants, hooking his fingers into his underwear and very, very slowly dragging them down. Coulson was red-faced and panting, his gaze hungry, and his spit-wet cock jerked when Bucky's own hard dick popped out of his underwear.

Bucky went right over and straddled him; Coulson's hands landed on his thighs and squeezed. He seemed dumbstruck, like he couldn't quite figure out what Bucky was doing, until Bucky handed him the little tube of lube that he'd stashed in his pants (when you were being slutty, Bucky had discovered a long time ago, it was really advantageous to come prepared). His eyes got wider. "C'mon," Bucky said, squeezing some of it out onto Coulson's fingers and then guiding them back between his legs. "Not like this is your first rodeo, sir."

Coulson groaned at the use of the honorific; his fingers pressed inside Bucky, thankfully not tentatively. He had to want this bad enough to go for it, by now. Bucky had been in his position before, and the amount that Coulson probably wanted to fuck Bucky right now was -- he let out a breathless noise of his own as Coulson found his prostate, then bent his head for a kiss, moaning into Coulson's mouth when Coulson touched him there again, more intentionally this time.

Coulson _was_ polite, and he seemed to be determined to finger Bucky for about half an hour if given the chance. "Come on," Bucky groaned; Coulson got the picture, withdrew his fingers, and Bucky lifted himself up, bracing an arm against the back of the couch, and then sank down onto Coulson's dick.

"Fuck!" said Coulson, and then looked faintly embarrassed at having said it for about half a second until Bucky started moving. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch and let Bucky ride him like he stole him, which was just about exactly what Bucky was doing. He tipped his own head back and closed his eyes too, concentrating on the feeling -- jesus christ it felt good, felt like finally getting what he needed, especially when he felt Coulson's cock jerk inside him, and Coulson came groaning Bucky's name with his fingers digging into Bucky's thighs.

"Shit," Bucky said, shuddering, coming too with a gasp, almost surprised by it -- but not as surprised by it as Coulson, who looked vaguely ashamed, like he didn't think he'd done enough. "Jesus, don't look like that," Bucky said. "Feels good. Take it as a compliment." He reached for a tissue from the coffee table, wiped himself off, then handed the tissue to Coulson as he got up and went back into the kitchen to retrieve their glasses of wine.

Coulson was watching him, looking wrecked and still mostly clothed when Bucky came back. He accepted the glass of wine when Bucky handed it to him, and then continued watching Bucky as Bucky wandered naked around his living room, examining the minutiae of his life. "Oh, this is good," Bucky said, picking up a book. "I liked this one. Tried to get Steve to read it, but he prefers nonfiction."

Coulson cleared his throat. "A lot of people prefer his earlier work," he said.

"I suppose," Bucky said. "Superficially, it seems grittier. But I like his later stuff. More nuanced, you know? Subtler." He could see Coulson still admiring all the lines of his body as he moved, and it made his dick twitch. Coulson didn't miss that either; he laughed a little, maybe in disbelief.

"Oh, you didn't think I was finished with you, did you?" Bucky asked him, finishing his glass of wine and going to pour himself another. "I'm just giving you some time to catch up." He leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking his wine and watching Coulson's reaction.

"Can I ask you something?" Coulson asked after a minute, and then, when Bucky nodded, "Why are you doing this?"

"You want to fuck me," Bucky said. "I want you to fuck me. Does it have to be more complicated than that?"

"I -- I guess not, no," Coulson said. "But I still don't understand -- what's going on between you and Captain Rogers, and I can't help but feel like --"

"What's going on between me and Captain Rogers," Bucky said. "Isn't that the million-fucking-dollar question." He set his wine glass down with an audible _clink_. "Well, let me tell you, Director Coulson: Captain Rogers isn't here right now. Captain Rogers isn't the one who just fucked me. And you could literally be doing _anything_ with me that you want right now -- hell, you could bend me over your knee, spank me, and make me call you 'Daddy,' and instead you're asking me about _Steve._ " He spun the wine glass, and it rattled. "Just about enough to make a guy feel inadequate, you know?"

"That's actually not what I meant at all," Coulson said. He had gone bright pink again, and Bucky might have been a little bit embarrassed by his outburst, except that it had clearly given him another way into Coulson's head.

"Yeah?" he asked, starting back toward Coulson.

"I didn't mean to make you feel, uh, inadequate," Coulson said.

"Lucky for you my ego isn't quite that fragile," Bucky said, getting on his knees again in front of Coulson and rubbing his cheek along the inseam of Coulson's pants. "You liked that idea though, huh? You want to spank me?"

Coulson looked profoundly embarrassed, his cheeks red, but he nodded. Bucky smirked at him, reached for Coulson's hand, and sucked a couple of fingers into his mouth. "You want me to call you Daddy?" he asked, and then, not waiting for an answer to that one, "You want to give me what I deserve for being bad? 'Cause I have to tell you, I can be a lot worse."

Coulson's free hand fisted in his hair, and he tugged a little; Bucky sat up and folded himself over Coulson's knees, ass in the air, cheek pressed against the couch. "Hit me as hard as you want," he said. "You're not gonna hurt me."

Coulson inhaled sharply, and then his hand came down and landed with a sharp _crack_ against Bucky's backside. Bucky made a little noise at the sudden pain of it, and he knew Coulson had felt Bucky's dick twitch against his leg. He was getting hard again, and every time Coulson hit him -- _hard_ smacks, like he really meant business, meant to leave his mark on Bucky if he could -- he just got harder.

Coulson paused after about a dozen smacks and just rubbed at Bucky's ass for a minute instead; Bucky risked a glance over his shoulder and his ass was bright red, slightly swollen. He rocked his hips, trying to get purchase a little, but received instead another slap for his trouble. "Nnn--" he said, and then let out another cry, a louder cry, higher-pitched, when Coulson dragged his fingernails over the tender skin.

He slid his fingers between Bucky's asscheeks and his fingers grazed Bucky's asshole; Bucky groaned, and Coulson smacked him again, then shifted, reaching for the lube where Bucky had discarded it earlier. He was less shy about things this time around, and a little bit less polite, too. He seemed determined to drive Bucky nuts, and between Coulson's fingers grazing his prostate and his hand landing sharply on Bucky's sore ass whenever Bucky made a noise, Bucky was just about there.

"I'm gonna ruin your pants," he managed to groan out, but Coulson didn't seem to care, and Bucky came about fifteen seconds later, moaning, with his face pressed against the couch cushion.

When he had recovered enough to straighten, he could see that Coulson was hard again. He wiped his hair out of his face; he was slightly sweaty now, and his hair had gotten pretty goddamn disheveled. 'How do you want me?" he asked Coulson, breathless and slightly hoarse.

Coulson stared at him, bewildered; he probably thought Bucky needed a second. That would have been a reasonable thought to have. "Come on, _daddy_ ," said Bucky. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Uh--" said Coulson. "Get up. Go to the bedroom." Bucky unfolded himself obediently and got to his feet, only a little unsteady. He waited for Coulson to show him where the bedroom was, and then, when Coulson pointed and said, "Over there," he walked in the direction Coulson was pointing.

Coulson's bedroom was neat, shoes lined up in the bottom of his closet, bed made. It made sense; it reminded Bucky of Coulson himself. He climbed on the bed and waited for Coulson, sprawling out across Coulson's sheets, making himself comfortable. Coulson was finally getting undressed, efficiently, like he had a job to do. Well, he did -- Bucky rolled onto his stomach and lifted his ass in the air, gratified when he felt the bed dip and Coulson's hand in his hair.

He let out a whine when Coulson pressed inside him, and as soon as Coulson was in all the way, bucked his hips insistently, pushing his face into the pillow. "God," he groaned, "c'mon, fuck me," and then, when Coulson did, demanded, "Harder!"

Coulson picked up the pace, but it wasn't enough; Bucky turned his head, snarling "harder!" at him again, and Coulson shoved his face back into the pillow and _did_ fuck him harder, really harder then, as hard as Bucky wanted. The slap of his thighs against Bucky's still-red ass stung in the best way possible. Bucky slid a hand down his chest and stomach and started jerking himself off rapidly, in time to Coulson's thrusts.

He shuddered, getting close again, his pulse pounding in time to the thrum of pleasure in his veins. Times like these, he had discovered, were the closest that he ever got to feeling any kind of real peace of mind, at least in the traditional sense. Otherwise it was too difficult to quiet his mind, and more impossible still to empty it.

Coulson stopped abruptly, pulling out, and Bucky let out a cry -- he'd been so close. Coulson's hands were on his hips, urging him to turn over. Bucky rolled easily for him, arching up, trying to get more contact. Coulson's hands ran along Bucky's chest; he pinched Bucky's nipples, sharply, and Bucky cried out again, arching his back.

Coulson's hand circled around his aching cock, and he moaned in relief, except it became very clear after a moment that Coulson's hand wasn't there to get him off; he was holding Bucky just tightly enough that Bucky _couldn't_ come. He slung one of Bucky's legs over his shoulder, pressing back inside, and Bucky smiled to himself a little, thinking only semi-coherently that he was getting _exactly_ what he wanted.

Somewhere in there, he came again, and Coulson did too, collapsing on the bed next to him, looking wiped out. "I'm not done with you yet," Bucky said hoarsely. How long had it been? He didn't know. Not long enough; he got up and went to get them both a glass of water, came back to find Coulson almost asleep, and fixed that by crawling onto the bed and biting Coulson's thigh.

Coulson jerked and said "Ouch!" with his eyes wide enough that Bucky knew he'd actually hurt him a little, which was good, because it was what he'd been aiming for. It'd give Coulson something to remember him by. It'd serve as a reminder, that Bucky might be playing the house pet here, but he was a predator at heart.

Bucky laved the bite mark with his tongue -- cold, from the ice water, in such a way that it made Coulson's leg goosebump, all the hairs standing up on end. "I don't think I can go again," Coulson said apologetically, self-deprecatingly, clearing his throat.

"Have a little faith," Bucky said, trailing his finger along a line of goosebumps, looking up at Coulson through his eyelashes. "Mind over matter, Director Coulson."

Coulson shivered, picking up his glass of water and drinking from it. Bucky busied himself leaving a series of small love bites along Coulson's inner thigh until he judged Coulson was past the point of oversensitivity, and then he nuzzled Coulson's hipbone and began gently licking at Coulson's cock. It would have seemed aimless, except that it was, obviously, not.

Coulson groaned, his breath picking up. After a few minutes he _did_ start to get hard again, slower than he had before, his cock filling with blood under Bucky's tongue. " _Bucky,_ " he said, his hand sliding into Bucky's hair, and Bucky hummed an affirmative, sucking the head into his mouth.

He took his time with it this time. It wasn't like Coulson was likely to be able to come anytime soon, anyway, and they had the entire rest of the night ahead of them. Coulson shifted and swore, his fingers carding through Bucky's hair, and groaned when Bucky pulled off to lick at his balls instead.

He went very stiff when Bucky's mouth trailed further back, and Bucky glanced up at him, trying to judge from his expression whether it was a no-go or simply unexplored territory. He gave Coulson's asshole a quick, experimental lick, and Coulson said "oh my _god_ ," shocked, his dick jerking and drooling out a sticky trail of pre-come.

Oh, this was going to be _good._ Bucky manhandled Coulson over onto his stomach -- to be fair, Coulson was too surprised to resist much -- and spread his cheeks, licking him more firmly and listening to the undignified noise that spilled out of Coulson's mouth. He should have known, really; it was often this particular act that shocked the hell out of people, and with good reason. It might be one of the more intimate things you could do to somebody. And it felt fucking _amazing_ , a fact Coulson was apparently now learning, judging from the way his hips were jerking and the muffled swearing and moaning.

"Fuck -- jesus, Bucky!" Coulson said; Bucky reached around, lifting his hips, and circled a hand around his dick, jerking him off in roughly the same rhythm as the movements of his tongue.

Bucky wondered -- would Coulson let Bucky fuck him? Hell, he probably would; he'd probably let Bucky do just about whatever he wanted at this point. He pulled away, plastered himself against Coulson's back, situating his erection right in the slippery crack of Coulson's ass, and said, "Do you have stuff in here?"

"Uh -- bedside table," Coulson said, after a few moments. He'd tensed up a little. Bucky kissed the back of his neck, rocking his hips down, and then pulled off to look for -- well, it was just lotion, really, but it'd have to do.

"Don't worry," he purred in Coulson's ear, running his hand down the line of Coulson's spine. "I'll be nice to you." And he was: he was careful slipping his first finger inside, made sure he found Coulson's prostate, remembered the angle. He gave Coulson three fingers, preferring to err on the side of generosity, and fingered Coulson for about as long as Coulson had seemed to want to finger him the first time, until Coulson was relaxed and panting again, his dick dragging a sticky trail along the bedsheets.

Coulson went very tense when Bucky pushed inside him, and Bucky paused, stroking a trail down Coulson's side with one hand. "Relax," he said, and waited until Coulson had before pressing the rest of the way in. Coulson's expression, what Bucky could see of it, was a little wild. "You okay?" Bucky asked him, lifting up his hips and shifting the angle so that his cock was grazing right against Coulson's prostate.

"Yeah," Coulson said breathlessly, "Yeah, I -- it's just been a while."

"Mm, I can tell," Bucky said, waiting a little longer and then starting up slow, giving Coulson the time he needed to adjust. It became pretty obvious when Coulson stopped resisting and just gave in, relaxing under Bucky's hands. He wasn't particularly vocal about it, but he had been close enough to the edge before that it didn't take long for him to be gasping and shuddering out his orgasm with Bucky's hand around his dick and Bucky's cock inside him.

Bucky fucked him a few more times and then buried himself deep and groaned out his own orgasm too. "Mind over matter," he said, easing Coulson down onto the bed and lying down next to him. "Like I said."

"Yeah," Coulson agreed vaguely. He leaned in for a kiss --

"You want me to go brush my teeth or something first?" Bucky asked, but Coulson laughed a little wildly and shook his head.

"That's really the least of my worries right now," he said, so Bucky allowed himself to be kissed, and then allowed Coulson to pinch his nipples until he got hard again and jerk him off -- Coulson's expression had settled into something like disbelief, which Bucky found half funny and half flattering. And then Coulson did get hard again, after another forty minutes or so, and Bucky fucked himself on Coulson's dick until they both came again.

"I really think -- that's it for me," Coulson said. He looked totally destroyed; there was no semblance between the guy lying in bed right now and the neatly-dressed suit-wearing drone that Bucky was used to seeing.

Bucky felt superior. "Kiss me some more, then," he said. Coulson obliged; his kisses had become very sweet by this time of night, and he got very preoccupied sucking on Bucky's lower lip, which in turn got Bucky hard again.

"God, you're --" said Coulson, breathless and exhausted, maybe a little embarrassed, but clearly in a pleased way. "You're really sexy."

"Thanks," Bucky said, smiling. He slid a hand along his chest and stomach -- he was sweaty and sticky in most places, now -- and circled it around his cock, jerking himself off slowly. Coulson's eyes followed. It was pretty clear that Coulson could barely keep his eyes open, but he managed somehow, pulling Bucky in for another kiss, fucking Bucky's mouth lazily with his tongue until Bucky shivered and came.

Bucky got up to wipe himself off a bit, after that, and when he came back, Coulson had passed out and was snoring faintly. Bucky glanced at the clock -- it was four-thirty in the morning. He wandered around Coulson's apartment for a while, and then got in the shower and rinsed the evening off himself.

By the time Coulson's alarm went off at six-thirty, Bucky had made breakfast and coffee. He heard the shower turn on, and when Coulson came out, he looked damp and distinctly hungover in more ways than one. "What's this?" he said.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Breakfast," he said.

"I think I'm supposed to make this for you, not the other way around," Coulson said, hobbling over and pouring himself a mug of coffee. "Thank you. I actually think I have to call in sick to work, but thank you."

Bucky smiled, sipping his own coffee. "You're welcome," he said. "Don't worry, I won't tell the kids you're playing hooky."

"Thanks," Coulson said, smiling too. "I appreciate that."

Bucky finished his mug of coffee and watched Coulson devour the pancakes and bacon he'd made, and then said, "I'm going to head home. Thanks for dinner, and the scotch."

"You're welcome," Coulson said. "Thank you for, uh --"

"Don't mention it," Bucky said, grabbing his jacket and shoes, slipping them on. "You just let me know if you want to do it again sometime."

He caught a cab back to the tower, and when he got up to his and Steve's floor, it was quiet, no lights on. Steve must still be in bed. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it on his way to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt again as he went.

Steve was sprawled out across the bed. Bucky stripped down to his underwear and climbed in too, and Steve stirred and mumbled, "hey," reaching out with one arm and reeling Bucky in. "You smell clean," he said. "You take a shower?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. Steve cracked an eye open and smiled at him a little, and Bucky helplessly smiled back.

"Good night?" he asked Bucky.

"Sure," Bucky said. Steve's hand carded thought his damp hair and then shifted, settling so that his arm rested heavily across Bucky's ribs. "How about you?"

"It was fine," Steve said. "I watched a show on Netflix about feather pillows."

He meant _How It's Made,_ Bucky knew. He would watch that shit until he was literally blue in the face, given the chance. "Sounds fun," Bucky said.

Steve's eye opened again, and he mashed his hand against Bucky's face for a moment. "Shut up," he said. "Go to sleep."

Steve closed his eyes, then, relaxing against Bucky, and Bucky shifted, pillowing his right hand under his cheek. His dick and ass ached, and he felt as if there were still invisible handprints all over him. It was kind of unfortunate, that the analgesic effects of sex never lasted for very long afterward. Didn't matter, anyway; he closed his eyes, and waited to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! [Come say hi-diddly-ho on tumblr!](https://dorkbait.tumblr.com)


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